A Night of Shadows
by SpartAl412
Summary: Among those who fight for the cause of Order and the Light, there are some who choose the battle the darkness with both ruthlessness and cruelty to match even the blackest of hearts. The Shadow Warriors of Nagarthye can be counted among those who would use such methods when battling against the forces of Destruction for even in the homes of their foes, none are beyond their reach.


Looking up to the night sky above, Eigil Hrolfson felt awed to see the dancing lights that played across all of Norsca. The chill wind did not bother him much for he had grown up and been made strong by this harsh place. Taking a deep breath of the crisp chill air, he then exhaled a puff of mist which he could have sworn had faces which looked back at him.

The smell of the sea was mixed with the familiar stink of his home city, Groffstad as fires from torches and beacons burned along the walls of the city, illuminating it as brightly as the great light house which stood by the docks. Hearing the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below the ramparts on which he stood, Eigil's thoughts turned towards the ocean and to those lands far away. The raiding season was almost over and soon the long ships would be returning full of slaves and plunder.

Proudly did Eigil think of his father who had left earlier in the season along with a hundred warriors of their tribe and he prayed to the gods that they would return home in glory. With a smile, he remembered how his father said that on the next season, Eigil would be old enough to finally become a Marauder. Wishing that he could make time move faster, he fantasized about the glory he would earn and the favor from the gods he would claim as he visited lands far away.

Equipped with a hauberk of hardened leather, Eigil wore a cloak of furs to keep him warm, an open faced iron helmet to protect his head and studded leather bracers to protect his wrist. He carried a spear and a shield of wood rimmed with iron for protection as well but he doubted that he would even need it for the night. Softly shaking his head and returning to his duties, the young sentry continued his nightly patrol and wishing that he had some mead to drink.

Walking along the ramparts while a chill wind strongly blew, he moved towards the next guard post report that all was clear. Quickly, he noticed one of the guards, Ivar most likely, sitting on a wooden stool with his back to the wall of the guard post and his head hung low. The bastard was probably in a drunken sleep again he thought with displeasure for the fellow had reputation for drinking too much, even before hunts or duties.

As Eigil drew closer, he called to Ivar who did not stir and he mentally cursed the laggard while hoping that Grandfather Nurgle would give the man a disease that would rot his testicles out. Calling to the man again, Eigil picked up a familiar coppery smell and with alarm he reached out to the Ivar with his shield and he tapped the man with the rim of it. Ivar then fell to the floor of the rampart but he caught a glimpse of the bloody gouge that was slashed across Ivar's neck.

With an alarmed gasp, Eigil took a step back with eyes widened and he was about to shout before something suddenly clamped over his mouth and he felt an intense pain explode upon his back. He felt the cold bite of a blade plunge into his back, pulled out and stabbed again and again. Strength swiftly ebbed from his limbs as his vision blurred and soon darkness consumed him.

* * *

Pushing the body of the barbarian to the floor where it landed near the remains of the other one, Ellarian Songweaver knelt over the corpse of his kill and he wiped the blood off of his hunting knife and upon the fur cloak of the savage. His heart pounded loudly beneath his chest for he was unused to killing something in such a manner and was more familiar with doing such a deed with bow and arrow. Looking about to see if there were more barbarians on the way, he keen eyes found that there was none nearby.

'And what happened to dumping the body over the wall I wonder?' came the mockingly sarcastic yet playful tone of a feminine voice from behind him.

Turning back, he saw a maiden garbed in the same way as he was in a dark grey tunic which concealed a light shirt of scale armour underneath. The maiden's features were concealed by a cloak and kerchief of a similar colour and the only thing visible about her features were the emerald green eyes which regarded him in a cold manner. Two elegant short swords that were drenched in blood were held in her gloved hands while a bow and a full quiver of arrows rested upon her back.

Like him, Shelaniryeth or simply just Shaelyn was one of the _Aesanar_, the Shadow Warriors of Nagarthye.

'I… I didn't have time, I noticed the other one and-' explained Ellarian rather quickly before Shaelyn stepped forward and placed a finger over where his lips are while making a soft shushing sound with her blades still in hand.

'Worry not little brother' she then said and he could imagine the mischievous smile underneath her kerchief.

Quietly nodding to Shaelyn who kept watch, he then sheathed his knife and he stepped over towards the front of his latest kill. Picking up the dead barbarian by the arms, Ellarian dragged the corpse to the section of the rampart which faced the sea and after some heavy lifting; he managed to throw the body over where it crashed into the sea-soaked rocks before the waves claimed it. He then did the same to the other body which was more difficult to move for the dead barbarian weighed even more than the one he had just stabbed.

'Have the others made the signal?' panted Ellarian as he tried to catch his breath from the exertion.

'Yes, come we must not tarry' whispered Shaelyn as she sheathed her blades and gestured for him to follow her.

The two Shadow Warriors then moved to the section of the wall which faced the crude settlement and Ellarian felt a bit wary as he gazed upon the place. Hundreds of structures lay before him, each one the home of a barbarian who worshiped the Dark Gods of Chaos, their shrines could openly be seen here and there along with those of lesser daemon deities. Their objective lay upon a hill where a massive structure stood, the Mead Hall as it was called where the chieftain of these barbarians resided.

Peering over the parapet and looking down, Ellarian saw a group of patrolling guards make their rounds while another structure laid close to the wall. Looking to Shaelyn, she nodded and from the side of her belt she pulled out an iron spike which was etched with softly glowing glyphs, she then placed the point of the spike upon the stone surface of the parapet before them and she unsheathed one of her blades and used the pommel to softly hammer it into the wall. The minor but effective enchantments placed on the spike did most of the work, allowing it to puncture through the stone before finally expiring while being firmly lodged into the wall.

Ellarian then pulled out a length of rope which dangled from the side of his own belt and he tied it to the part of the spike that was protruding from the wall. Quickly tying one end into a sturdy knot, and testing it, Ellarian then gave the other to Shaelyn who had her bow out with an arrow in hand. He then tied the other end of the arrow and after he finished Shaelyn took a moment to adjust to the weight and she raised her bow up to the sky and fired the arrow.

The Shadows Warriors watched the trajectory of the projectile as it flew upwards and reached its zenith before falling back down to the earth where it landed on the far side of the roof of the building closest to the wall. Taking a deep breath and knowing what was to come next, Ellarian then pulled out from the side of his belt a leather strap made from the hide of a _Nauglir_. Shaelyn then nodded to him with a strap of her own and she climbed over the parapet and placed the leather object upon the rope and she leaped off the wall while sliding down upon the cord.

Wishing that he was back in Nagarthye and stalking things in the woods, Ellarian did the same as his fellow Shadow Warrior and soon he found himself rushing through the air with the wind in his face. Hoping to all the gods, especially to Loec and Vaul that length of rope held, he saw Shaelyn leap off and gracefully land in a roll upon the triangular roof of the structure and the Ellarian did likewise as well. A sense of vertigo briefly filled Ellarian's senses as he let go of the strap and he also landed in a roll.

Quickly getting up and shaking his head, he looked to Shaelyn who was busily surveying the area around them. Looking around as well, Ellarian noted that there were many human structures which were placed closely together, a perfect place for those of their training.

'Come on little brother, let us not keep the others waiting' whispered Shaelyn as she moved to the side and slid down the side of the roof with Ellarian following her steps.

* * *

Staring deep into golden drinking cup which was studded with gems as he sat on an ornate wooden throne which was decorated with draconic imagery, Jarl Bersi reminisced on how he had found this object amongst the plunder his marauders had claimed from the weak southlings of the Empire many years ago. He fondly recalled the sport they had made of the women whose husbands, brothers and fathers they had either slain in battle or later sacrificed to the Gods. If only he were a decade or so younger now he thought rather wistfully for he was not the warrior he once was.

Bersi's throne was placed upon a dais with his wife's own next to his while a dining table filled with food was placed in front of them. A great fire pit roared in front of them, bathing all those inside the Mead Hall with warmth as several tables were placed around the flames. Songs, boasts and tales filled the hall as men and women drank their fill of mead and drink.

Dressed in fine silks and fabrics traded with merchants from Marienburg who claimed it to be of Bretonnian origin, Bersi wore a doublet of light brown that was chased with gold while a dark bear fur cloak covered his once mighty frame. With his hair well groomed and combed and his beard neatly trimmed, he imagined that he would not look out of place in the courtly halls of the southern nations. It was all for show really for there were many ways to worship and honour the Gods and to dress ostentatiously was but a minor way of pleasing Shornaal.

The Mead Hall was now mostly filled with fellow old warriors like him, men who were not fit enough to engage in protracted raids and battles. Most of them were either thanes accompanied by their housecarl guards but others were of a more common birth such as Bondsmen and Freeholders who had proven themselves well over the years. Although the days of glory and plunder were quite passed the older members, they at least could still serve their tribe by passing on their wisdom to the younger generation and hoping that they continue the legacy of their tribe.

Glancing to his right, he looked to his wife, Aela who was still as beautiful as ever with her golden hair which was braided around her head and dressed in fine white ermine fur plundered from Kislev. Despite being as old as he was, he found that age did nothing to detract her beauty and instead it only served to heighten it for it matched the keen intellect that lay within her mind. Like him, Aela was dressed in fine clothes traded with the Marienburgers and only thing among their affects which would be considered "improper" by the foolish southlings was twin golden eight pointed star amulets which they proudly wore.

His wife softly hummed a lullaby to the wrapped bundle in her arms where their youngest child, a girl named Valla who quietly slumbered in her mother's arms. How proud he was when their daughter had been born, especially when the child in question had tiny little horns and a serpentine tongue. The Seers and Vitki of their tribe had claimed that the child was born with the Blood God's favor and that if she survives long enough into adulthood, she would become a handmaiden of Khorne, much like Valkia the Bloody herself.

Raising the golden cup up to the air and offering a toast to the old warriors around him, Bersi saw each of them raise their cups as well. They gave thanks and praise to the Gods, hoping for a winter that would not be too harsh and the return of their sons and brothers who had gone off raiding in lands far away. Most of all among those Bersi hoped to return was his son, Torolf who he was proud to think of as a worthy successor for the title of Jarl.

* * *

Deftly climbing up to the roof of another building and sprinting towards the nearest one, Ellarian leapt off from the roof top and he managed to catch the ledge of another roof which he pulled himself up to. For several minutes now they had become like hawks swooping from perch to perch or perhaps more like those simian creatures that inhabited the jungles of distant lands such as Ind or the Hinterlands of Khuresh. In the distance he also saw the shadowy forms of the other _Aesanar_ performing similar feats of acrobatics and athleticism as well.

The rooftops of the barbarian homes were composed of thatched roofs which were surprisingly sturdy enough to hold the weight of the elves. Ellarian simply assumed that since Norsca has very harsh winters, the barbarians needed to build homes that could hold up the weight of all the snow and ice, doubly so for if ever it hails. Despite the crudeness and the often outright blasphemous designs which the barbarians would decorate the exteriors of their homes, the Shadow Warrior had to admit that he marveled at some of the designs such as those of dragons and eagles.

So far so good he thought as the barbarians did not even notice their presence. Ellarian had to admit that despite the severity of the situation and the possibility of being surrounded by an entire city of foes, there was quite the sense of excitement as well. It was the first time he had ever set foot on Elthin Arvan (even if it was in the chaos tainted north) and the thought that he could actually walk and travel to other places such as the Empire, Bretonnia or even Athel Loren had only served to heighten his personal feelings on the matter.

Perhaps in time, he would sign up to join the garrisons stationed outside of Ulthuan or even the hosts that monitor and protect the Waystones. Putting away such idle fancies for now, he saw Shaelyn stop for a moment where she raised up her hand while looking to their right and creating a series of hand gestures. Ellarian understood that it was meant for one of the other groups of Shadow Warriors with the message saying that a patrol was coming their way.

His companion then looked to him and nodded and they continued to move on in utter silence. As they drew closer towards the Mead Hall where barbarian chieftain resided, Ellarian felt an unnatural chill creep up his spine and he instinctively knew it was the feeling of dark magic in use. Stopping for a moment to scan the area, he noted a scuffle taking place where a group of barbarians were struggling with something.

With his keen elven vision, Ellarian saw a pair of barbarians dressed like the guards he had killed earlier and dragging a human female dressed in rags and out from a rather crude looking tent while a wizened old human male who was clutching a staff watched in silence. The Shadow Warrior quickly recognized the elder as of being some sort of shaman and he knew that the old man needed to die for his presence was a grave threat to their mission. Looking to Shaelyn who had also stopped to observe what was going on, she then looked to him and began making a series of hand gestures that silently said '_Must we intervene in this_?'

Ellarian then performed another series of gestures which replied '_would you rather face a sorcerer who has readied his repertoire of spells?_'

Shaelyn then nodded and quickly drew her bow as well as an arrow from her quiver, they had a clear line of sight from which they could shoot the shaman and the guards but he was uneasy with the idea of killing the last one. Like the hated _Druchii_, he knew that the barbarians of Norsca had an infamous reputation for abducting people from other realms and using them as slave labor or sacrifices to either the Dark Gods or to fuel foul sorceries. Calling to his fellow Shadow Warrior's attention, Ellarian quietly asked if they should kill all of them.

'It will be a mercy little brother' came the whispered reply of Shaelyn who never was empathetic towards the misery of slaves from the lesser races.

With a nod, Ellarian drew his bow and took aim, they should of course kill the shaman first and then the barbarian guardsmen. Taking a deep breath of the cold and fetid air, Ellarian lined up his shot while aiming at the shaman's hunched back. Having seen the cruelty which the barbarians were capable of, the Shadow Warrior knew well enough that indeed a quick death was perhaps the most merciful thing he could do.

As he took aim, Ellarian noticed another figure moving across the rooftops and he saw a brief series of glinting lights from it. Understanding what it meant, he then looked to Shaelyn who had also noticed and she reluctantly lowered her bow.

'Come on, little brother' she said again and the two Shadow Warriors off towards the Mead Hall.

* * *

'Please let me go! I didn't do anything wrong!' cried Lotte Fiedler as she felt the strong hands of the Norscans holding onto her arms with an iron-hard grip.

'Be silent, slave!' hissed one of the Norscans as he suddenly pulled at her left arm with enough force to dislocate it. Crying out as pain lanced through her arm, Lotte felt tears rolling down her cheeks as terror gripped her heart. She could hear the voice of the Vitki whispering in a dark speech which sent daggers of ice up her spine and it felt as if her ears were ready to bleed from just hearing it.

Once in what seemed like a lifetime ago, Lotte had lived within a fishing village on the coasts of Nordland. She had lived with her family, a father, mother, two younger sisters and an elder brother while many cousins and other relatives resided within the same settlement. It had been a peaceful life until the Norscans came and destroyed everything.

Her father and brother had been among those slain trying to defend her homes while her mother had been violated and defiled in front of her own eyes along with many other women from their village. The Norscans then took them across the sea, away from the Empire and into this hellish place of misery and darkness where they could be killed on a whim from their barbarous masters. Over the years, Lotte herself had witnessed many terrible things and been subjected herself to the depravity which the Norscans committed.

Now it seemed that her time was finally up and the shamans sought to use her as a sacrifice. Looking up to the old man who busily intoned a foul spell, she could see that his eyes had rolled up, showing only white orbs with writhing black veins. The pain in her ears intensified as she felt her sanity begin to fray for the Vitki continuously mentioned the name of the Plague Father.

'Don't be afraid little girl' came the mocking voice of the other Norscan who held her 'you actually should feel honoured for old Arngeir here says that you would make a fine vessel for the Grand Father's gifts.'

'Yeah, Papa Nurgle especially likes young girls like you' came the amused voice of the one who had dislocated her arm 'invite us to the party once the babies are born eh?'

As the Vitki's words reached a crescendo, she saw him lift up a gnarled, clawed hand which was covered in pus filled buboes and the palm facing upwards. Upon the palm, she saw a rather disgusting looking and massive maggot-like creature with a disturbingly human-like face and snapping mandibles. A sickly, greenish glow emanated from inside the maggot-thing's body and she could feel its eyes staring into her very soul.

Attempting to struggle again with all of her feeble might, she heard the Vitki suddenly halt with his spell and she noticed the old man to be looking around with an alarmed look on his face.

'What is it Father Arngeir?' asked the Norscan who had harmed her and suddenly she felt the other man let go of her as.

Looking to the other Norscan, she saw that his eyes were opened widely as he clawed at the leather hauberk around his collarbone and she could see his exposed neck contracting as if something was crushing it. A loud snap of bone echoed as the man collapsed to the muddy ground and the other Norscan let go of her as well as he reached for his sword and before her very eyes, she saw him rapidly age into an old man before suddenly exploding in a cloud of dust.

Falling to the ground with her rump landing on the muddy street, she saw the Vitki frantically looking around while wording another foul spell. Before the old man could even finish, she saw a puff of smoke instantly materialize behind the old man and a sword suddenly punched through the chest of the old man in a shower of blood. The Vitki slowly looked down at the blade for a moment before it began to glow with purple fire and the next thing she knew, the old man shriveled up into a dried husk that collapsed upon the ground, the maggot thing fell as well and she saw booted foot crush the creature with a loud wet squelch

Sitting there on the muddied street and paralyzed with terror as she saw the thing that had killed the Norscans, Lotte tried to summon up the will to run or to scream but found herself unable to do so as she stared into a featureless face of pure silver while twin amethyst eyes gazed upon her. She found that she could not tear her eyes away from those mesmerizing eyes and soon she felt a hand gently grip her right shoulder.

'Sleep….' whispered the silver faced thing in Reikspiel and soon Lotte's eyes grew heavy as darkness began to surround her. She did not feel the gentle hands that caught her fall nor did she feel being spirited away by the thing of shadows.

* * *

Sprinting up towards a rectangular wooden structure near the Mead Hall with Shaelyn quietly waiting at its base with both hands locked together, Ellarian then leapt towards the maiden with one foot landing on her entwined palms and she quickly brought him up. Ellarian briefly flew upwards and his hands latched onto the sill of a window which he used to pull himself up and into the structure. With practiced discipline, he landed quietly upon a wooden floorboard where he heard the snores of sleeping men.

Looking about at first to see if there were any guards who might be awake, he was glad to find none while drawing his knife. Moving up to the nearest of the barbarians, he saw a rather youngish looking human male who stank of crude alcohol lying upon a wooden bed frame with hay underneath him and furs blanketing the human. As his heart loudly began to beat again, Ellarian mentally calmed himself and went back to work.

Quickly placing a gloved hand over the barbarian's mouth, he slit the human's throat and saw the savage open his eyes with alarm as he struggled for a moment before the life quickly left his eyes. He then moved towards another sleeping barbarian and slit the throat of that one before moving to the next. In a few minutes, all of the barbarians were now sleeping eternally while Ellarian himself simply cleaned his blade again upon the fur sheets of an unoccupied bed.

A loud thud was suddenly heard from below and his eyes widened with alarm at the thought that they had been compromised. Taking a deep breath while trying to calm his nerves again, Ellarian quietly moved towards a set of railings ahead of him with a staircase on the left and he cautiously looked down. To his relief, he saw Shaelyn dragging the body of another slain barbarian guard by the wrists and she looked up to him and nodded.

Understanding her meaning, Ellarian descended a staircase to a torch-lit hall where a feasting table was placed near a hearth while cupboards and drawers lined the walls. Moving up to help his fellow Shadow Warrior, she quickly commanded him to go outside and help her. Acquiescing to her, Ellarian then went out of the doorway where he found two more dead guards.

Taking a deep breath again, he began to drag the body of another barbarian inside the structure and as he did so, he noticed Shaelyn passing him by to attend to the other body before they were found. Ellarian dragged the corpse near the feasting table and he let go of the body so that he could assist her in dragging the last one. As soon as all three bodies were in, he went back to the doorway and he cautiously looked outside to see if the area was clear.

From across his position, he saw another guard house where the front door opened to reveal the cloaked form of another Shadow Warrior. The other elf then made a series of hand gestures, telling him it was all clear and Ellarian turned back to Shaelyn to tell her the same. The maiden nodded and two exited the structure and they quietly moved up the hill while another pair did likewise.

Around the Mead Hall, Ellarian saw several dead barbarians, most had been slain by well placed arrows to the neck or eye but here and there he saw the telltale signs of those killed by blades or even more unnatural means.

'Come little brother, the main event is about to begin' whispered Shaelyn with cruel excitement in her eye and he had to admit that he himself felt a feral bit of satisfaction in their work.

Sheathing his knife again and drawing his bow, Ellarian watched as several of his kin did the same. The lights of the torches around them soon guttered out as a pall of unnatural darkness fell upon them and the Shadow Warrior could not help but smile when he thought of the look on the face of the barbarian leader once he sees what they had brought.

* * *

Music filled the Mead Hall of Groffstad as a Skald recited the Edda of Eorwulf Eye-Flayer and his decade long saga across the coasts of the Old World. His guests listened with rapt attention as many of them had a look of nostalgia in their eyes. Thralls and Slaves, mostly women taken from the southling lands moved about carrying trays of food or jugs of mead towards the gathered Thanes. He hoped that his men would be gentler tonight with the slaves tonight for his wife had worked hard in making sure that each one was well trained in performing their domestic duties.

As Saga reached its high climax when Eorwulf led a mighty charge of Chaos Knights against the massed charge of Bretonnian Cavalry, he heard his daughter, Valla begin to cry in his wife's arms. A sudden loud boom resounded from the doorway leading into the Mead Hall as the richly decorated, oaken doors swung open to reveal several tall, dark cloaked figures. Grabbing the hilt of his sword which lay sheathed next to his throne, a tense silence filled the hall as a cold wind blew inside and the attentions of all the guests, the skald and the guards within were drawn to these strangers.

Quickly surveying the strangers, he soon noticed the bloody blades which many carried while others wielded bows of a design he had grown dreadfully familiar with. At the head of the strangers was one whose cloak was made from glossy black feathers and a silver mask that concealed its face. Amethyst coloured eyes regarded them quietly before finally falling upon the Jarl himself.

'Are you the lord of this place?' came the deep voice of the silver masked stranger who spoke in their own tongue but it was accented enough for him to that he was not speaking to one born of Norsca.

'I am Jarl Bersi of Groffstad' was the cautious reply of the Jarl as he calculated his chances of flipping over the table in time to avoid the arrows or how quickly his warriors would react.

The lead stranger then placed a gloved hand over the silver mask that concealed his face and he gently removed it to reveal a pale skinned, angular face with almond shaped eyes. An elf he had already realized and judging by their equipment, one of fey folk of Ulthuan.

'And I am Arhulan Mauganar, Vassal of the Shadow King, Alith Anar and I have come here, Jarl Bersi of Groffstad as both an escort and a messenger' said the elf in a cold and cruel manner which seemed even more unnerving by the polite tone which the elf spoke.

'And what is this message then, elf and who is it you are escorting?' replied the Jarl as he narrowed his eyes.

Another elf stepped forward, this one held a black cloth sack which it handed to this Arhulan who then threw it with one hand towards the Jarl's throne. All eyes were immediately upon the sack as it flew and soon it landed upon his table to his left and right between his plate and a bowl of fresh bread. Cautiously looking at the elves who remained in place, he carefully then used both of his hands to untie a piece of cord which wrapped the sack.

As he then opened the container, his heart dropped when he saw what was inside. It was the head of his son, Torolf whose flesh was pale and his eyes were milk white as his tongue lolled out. His wife gasped and held back a sob as she saw the head of their only son and his daughter continued to wail.

Rage and anger built up inside the Jarl who then glared at the elf with every ounce of hate he could muster. He then reached for his sword while his wife protectively held their child in her arms.

'Did he at least die warrior's death?' Asked Aela in a mixture of sorrow and disbelief as their son's severed head lay so close to them.

'No, he did not' replied the damned elf with cruel smile etched upon his lips 'he died screaming and in great agony, he mewled and bawled like a stuck snotling and he told us everything about this pathetic little collection of hovels and its defenses.'

'You lie!' roared the voice of Thane named Wiglaf Bear-Breaker as he brought up a mighty rune-etched hammer taken from the Dwarfs. Like Bersi and many of the other lords gathered within the hall, Wiglaf had a child who was part of the same raiding group, specifically a daughter named Freya who was by all accounts a promising Shield Maiden. 'Torolf was a good and strong lad!' continued the Thane 'he never would have allowed himself to be taken alive and even if he did he never would have given in.'

'Oh but he did' replied Arhulan coldly as he looked to Wiglaf 'especially after we began pouring molten gold upon the head of one gold haired lass who he seemed quite close to'

Wiglaf roared in a mixture of grief and rage towards the elf and before they all knew it, a trio of arrows flew towards the Thane and his housecarl with two hitting Wiglaf in the eyes while another struck his guard in the throat. The two men collapsed to the ground with the other elves keeping their bows pointed at the gathered lords and their guards. The slaves screamed and ran but the elves did not pay them any heed.

'And what is this message then?' asked the Jarl who began to think of the many ways he would slowly and painfully kill this elf.

'My message is this, Jarl Bersi' replied the elf as he straightened up and removed a scroll tube from the side of his belt and from it; he unfurled a piece of parchment paper which he held out to read like a herald. The elf then loudly cleared his throat and said with a coldly amused smile as he pointed to the jarl 'You are already dead.'

A sudden and intense tugging was felt within the very soul of the Jarl who felt the agonizing effects of sorcery at work and before he knew it, it was over. The Jarl's body collapsed into a shriveled husk as his soul was forcibly expunged from its mortal coil. His wife screamed as arrows flew from the elves and towards the gathered thanes and their guards with none even anywhere near where the invaders stood.

The elves then began to advance into the hall with many taking up defensive positions while flipping over tables and creating what barricades they could. Aela then turned to flee but as she as her back faced the elves, an arrow from a green eyed elf maiden struck the widow of the Jarl in the spine and she collapsed the ground with her baby still held in her arms. Soon the only sound within the hall was the crying of the orphaned infant as the elves awaited for the coming of the entire town.

* * *

Moving towards the human female which Shaelyn had just shot, Ellarian turned over the dead woman of whom he found to be rather comely and he noticed the swaddled child in her arms. Feeling a bit uncomfortable at what they had just done, he then turned to his fellow Shadow Warriors who were too busy to pay him much attention. Lord Mauganar nodded and silently gestured to him, '_kill it'_.

Obeying his lord, Ellarian closed his eyes as he placed his boot over the child's skull. He did his best not to look as he began to apply pressure but even just a little was all he needed before he felt the breaking of its soft bones and the snap as its skull caving in and he crushed its brains. When he opened his eyes he saw the red ruin that was left of the child and he just couldn't quite get it out of his mind.

He noticed one of the other Shadow Warriors who was carrying upon his shoulder a human female their lord had picked up on the streets. The fellow Shadow Warrior then placed the human behind the now upturned table where the barbarian leader had stood and he pulled out a bow and readied an arrow. The sound of bells were soon heard from outside and the harsh voices of barbarians began to draw closer to them.

He looked to Lord Arhulan who held on to a string-less bow stave which was etched with entropic runes. A string of Amethyst fire materialized between the two ends of their lord's bow as the very shadows within the hall began to dance and writhe around them with a life of their own.

Looking to their lord, Ellarian nervously asked 'What do we do now, sire?'

The Shadowlord, Arhulan Mauganar gave him a wicked smile that reminded Ellarian all too much of that bloodthirsty Chracian warrior who his lord often associated with. The Shadow Lord then spoke in a manner which was filled with confidence and anticipation for only he know the full scope of this plan 'Now the fun begins…'

* * *

Angrily puffing the ymir-bone pipe that was clenched between his lips, Jurgen Olafson glared up at the nailed bodies of the manlings that adorned the walls of Groffstad. His rune armour had been especially polished and shined earlier this morning because he was expecting to get it messy with the blood of daemon-lovers. Much to his disappointment, his throng had found nothing but a whole lot of dead humans who owed him a grudge.

'Miserable _Wazzocks_!' roared the dwarf as he lost his temper and he threw the pipe down into the mud. He had prepared an entire army for the sake of starting a siege against the Norscan city and someone had beaten them to it!

Now how was he to cross out his grudge if the one he had to kill for it was now dead with no heirs? Unbelievable he thought. As the dwarf fumed and thought about the situation, he noticed the group of Rangers he had earlier sent through the gates return unharmed. One of them a _rinn_ named Skarha stepped forward to deliver a report.

'All dead inside my Jarl' reported the Ranger.

'Tell me something I don't know Helmarsdottir' growled Jurgen who was so annoyed that he didn't even bother in speaking in a manner that would be polite towards a _rinn_, regardless of rank_._

'All those dead are Norscan, my Jarl' continued the Ranger in a dutiful manner 'none are slaves from other lands'

'Well good on the buggers who decided to play big hero!' Jurgen said rather caustically as he turned away from the Rangers while feeling like he needed to bury his axes into something. Hearing a polite cough from behind, he turned around to see that the_ rinn_ still had something to say.

'You may also wish to look at this my Jarl' said Skarha as the Ranger handed him a piece of rolled-up paper.

Taking the parchment from the Ranger's hand with a grunt, Jurgen then began to read its contents which was written in Norse runes. The Dwarf's eyes then widened with relief as he realized what its contents meant. The Norscan Jarl has family in another settlement, kin whom Jurgen could pass his grudge to!

'Looks like we still got ourselves a war dwarfs!' roared Jurgen as he raised one fist to the air and in response his army roared in bloodthirsty cries.

'KHAZUK! KHAZUK! KHAZUK!'


End file.
